Memoirs of a Scab
by ChibiSerenity
Summary: A lot of you might know about the newsies strike of 1899. How a bunch of kids went up against the most powerful men in New York and won. Well, my name is Rails, and I was there, but, see, I wasn't a striker. I was a scab.
1. Rails

  
Memoirs of a Scab  
  
I don't know why I'm doing this. I guess it's just because I've got something to say. A lot of you have heard of the newsies strike in 1899. A couple of guys got really famous that summer. Jack Kelly, David Jacobs, Spot Conlon - they're heroes now. They and the other newsie strikers went up against the most powerful guys in New York. They were fighting for the freedom, and against all odds, they won. Lots of people know that story. Now, I've got every respect for Jack and them. I do. But when they or the other strikers tell the story, it comes out wrong. The strikers, they come off perfect golden boys. They soaked scabs, but that was only because the scabs were cowards, too weak to stand up to Pulitzer, or else greedy, caring about money more than freedom. Yeah well, maybe some were like that, but not all. I know. My name is Chris Thompson, but most people called my Rails back then. I was a newsie in 1899, and the strike changed my life. Not like it changed everyone else's life though. You see, I wasn't a striker. I was a scab.  
They called my Rails because I had ridden the rails to New York from Chicago without getting caught once. Well, that might be a bit of an 'improvement', as the Cowboy would say, but it's mostly right. I was pretty good at hitching a ride on trains and trolley cars. I was born in Chicago, but I'm an orphan. Don't really remember much about my parents, so they must not have been all that important. I never understood those orphans always sniveling about their dead parents, missing them and stuff. Maybe those kids knew their parents better. Anyhow, one day I decided to get out of there. It was a kind of a spur of the moment thing. I didn't have a real good job, and I didn't own anything but the clothes on my back, some change, and a grubby pack of playing cards in my pocket. So, I was walking by the train station one day and saw a couple people jumping on the train. I can't really explain why I followed them. I saw them jumping, and I figured 'why not. Not like I've got a lot here', so I jumped too. Eventually I found out where the train was going, and just kept jumping from train to train, riding the rails, until I ended up in New York. Once I got to New York - that was in 1896, I think - I took up being a newsie. Kind of a funny story. I saw Dutchy trying to sell by the train station. He wasn't doing too well, so I kind of made fun of him. We got in a fight, and he bet me I couldn't make it one week as a newsie. Well, I made it, if by the skin of my teeth. Somehow, one week became two, and two became three, and so on. Next thing I knew, I was a regular at the lodging house, and had my own selling spot. Guess where - yup, the train station.   
Now, I'm not saying that I settled down just like that. Nope, with the train station as my selling spot, it was too much for me to just stay in one spot while the people on the trains moved on all the time. Being in one place, while the world leaves you behind…that ain't my thing. Sorry, it isn't my thing. If I'm going to tell this, I guess I should tell it right. With the nice grammar and all that. The world's going places, and I aim to go with it. Just sitting there, watching the train go off, smoke coming behind it…well, sometimes it's all right, doesn't bother me too much, but sometimes it's the worst pain I know of. Just sitting there, being left behind, while everyone else is moving on to better things, bigger things. It was like a disease sometimes, or a compulsion maybe. It was something I couldn't help. Like, I had to get out of there, or I'd go crazy, end up like that old guy with no teeth who screams at people down by Bottle Alley. I think I heard somewhere it's called wanderlust. I knew a guy who called it the Itch. Anyhow, I'd get all wanderlust itchy, so, I'd hop a train, travel around, go wherever. It wasn't so important where I was going, just that I was going somewhere, that no one was leaving me behind anywhere. The funny thing was that even though I'd leave, travel all over the place, I'd always come back to New York. I'd always come back to being a newsie. It was weird. I guess this place was home, because no matter where I went, I'd always find myself on a train headed to New York when I got tired. I'd never done that before, never had a place I'd go when I wasn't feeling to great. I'd made friends other places, more like acquaintances really, but I'd never found nothing - anything - to make me stick around. But here in Manhattan it was different. I could be gone for weeks, and then one day I'd show up in the morning to buy my papes, and Dutchy or Specs or somebody would smack me on the back, say 'nice to see ya, Rails', and it was like I'd never left. There was always a bed for me at the lodging house - the same one. I never thought about it at the time, but Kloppman and the boys, they must have saved it for me. I always came back, and they'd always know I was coming back. That's what I home is, right?  
I'm not quite sure how I should start this thing out. Should it be when I came back from the South? Or when David came to be a newsie? Or when me and Specs pulled out Bumlets' bad tooth with a length of string tied around the door of the lodging house? Man, he wouldn't talk to us for days after that. Well, maybe he couldn't talk at all. Yeah, maybe I'll start with pulling out Bumlets' tooth. It was the same day that a boy named David Jacobs and his little brother Les had decided to be newsies, and about a week after I'd gotten back from the South, so I was trying to tell Specs, Dutchy and Bumlets about the southern girls I'd seen.   
"You boys wouldn't believe it," I'd said, pulling whatever details I couldn't remember about being there from this dime novel I'd swiped off the trolley in Virginia, or barring that, my own imagination. "The girls there, they ain't like the girls here in New York. In the South they're all in these big hoopy skirts that are in all different colors, so when you look at a bunch of them from far away, it looks kind of like the garden outside the mayor's house. They have these big hats too, so big that you can't see their faces. Their skin is real white, too. They powder it every day with this special powder that they've got to buy at this one hoity-toity general store that don't let anyone but southern ladies in it. The girls, they're all real clean too. They smell like they just got out of a bath or something. And they ain't called girls, they're called debutantes."  
"Why don't they just call'em girls?" asked Dutchy.  
"It's too common, dumb ass. Only street girls are called girls in the South. Everyone else is called a debutante, and carries around these little umbrellas called Paris Salts, -'cuz they got'em in France, see - and they have these silk handkerchiefs, and if they like you, they drop it, and you're supposed to carry it next to your heart."  
"Why the hell would anyone want to do that?" demanded Specs.  
"Well, they ain't like us normal boys down in the South. In the South everybody's afraid of you if you're from up beyond Virginia, and so they don't want to talk to you, and they definitely don't let any of their debutantes marry ya, so you got a lot of cousins marrying cousins and stuff. All that makes'em kind of weird in the head, ya know?"  
Dutchy nodded sagaciously, like he knew all about Southern inbreeding. He didn't notice that while he was acting all wise, Specs was stealing a spoonful of his soup. It didn't taste to great, though, because he ended up spitting it out all over Bumlets.  
"Phew! How can ya eat that stuff, Dutchy? It's too spicy!" exclaimed Specs, downing all of Bumlets' water in one gulp.  
"You get what you deserve, you little thief!" shouted Dutchy, pulling his soup away from Specs, as if he didn't trust him.  
"Ya think I want more of that stuff? Jeez, you're crazy." Complained Specs, turning away from Dutchy so quick that he banged into Bumlets, who let out a kind of muffled groan.  
That's when we noticed that despite all the abuse he'd been through, Bumlets hadn't said anything the whole conversation.  
"Hey, Bumlets, you okay?" asked Dutchy.  
"mffle mof mumble." Answered Bumlets, holding his jaw.  
"Huh?" I asked.  
"My tooth is rotted out." Moaned Bumlets.  
"Have you got any money? There's this dentist I know 'bout who can pull it out for not too much." Commented Dutchy.   
"Aw, we don't need all that! It's just one tooth, right Bumlets?" Bumlets nodded a yes to Specs, and so Specs continued "Well then, we just need to tie some string round the bad tooth, tie the other end to the door, slam the door, and it's out just like that!" Specs snapped his finger for emphasis.  
"You guys ain't dentists, ya don't know what you're doing." Pointed out Dutchy, the voice of reason.  
"Aw, how hard can it be? If that greasy haired guy…what's his name, Dr. Stevens…if he can do it, then it can't be much. 'Sides, I knew a guy who pulled out twelve bad teeth this way, and it didn't end up so bad." Countered Specs.  
"Rails, tell'em he's being crazy." Demanded Dutchy.  
"It works!" insisted Specs.  
"Well, I dunno…"I said, looking at Bumlets' miserable face.  
"You don't know what you're doing. If you go to the dentist, he'll do something to you so you don't feel nothing when he pulls the tooth. Can you do that?" That was Dutchy, of course.  
"Yeah, well, we could…um…"  
"If you put some ice on your mouth for a little before we pull it out, it should be okay." I offered.  
"Yeah!" Specs voiced his enthusiastic support.  
"Whaddaya say, Bumlets?" I asked, getting swept up in Specs' plan.  
"Bumlets, this dentist will see ya for five bucks…"  
"Five bucks? Come on, why would he do that when he can get us for free?" insisted Specs.  
"'Cuz he knows what the hell he'd doing, unlike you clowns."  
"It sounds like it'd work to me. Come on, Bumlets, what do you want? You gonna pay five bucks to some crazy with a pair of pliers, or let your good friends do it for free?" I asked.  
Well, after that, Bumlets' choice was clear. Ten minutes later Dutchy had left, calling us the craziest idiots he'd ever met, and Bumlets was sitting in a chair at the lodging house, ice held to his jaw, and string tied at one end to the bad tooth, and tied to the door at the other end.  
"You ready, Bumlets?" asked Specs, who was chief surgeon, and manning the door. Bumlets nodded.  
"Okay, you take hold of his shoulders, Rails, so he don't jerk forward. We just want the tooth. Ready guys?"  
"Ready!" I answered.  
Bumlets grunted that he was ready too, and clenched the sides of his chairs.  
"Okay! One. Two. Three!" shouted Specs, slamming the door shut with all his might.  
It was a good thing I was holding on to Bumlets. His whole body jerked forward when Specs slammed the door, but I held on, so only the tooth was pulled out. Bumlets let out this huge scream, and the tooth came out with a bunch of blood. And you know what the first thing that bum did was? He turned around and slugged me in the arm! I told him that he was being a jerk, and that it was Specs' idea anyway, and that he didn't have to go along with it in the first place, but he hit me anyway because I was closer. Specs thought it was all real funny. He would, now that Bumlets was sort of curled up on the floor, holding his jaw, and didn't look like he was about to hit anybody.  
"Well hey, the tooth's out, ain't it? And Jesus, does it look bad. Lookit, Rails, it's all yellowish and lumpy."   
Specs held out the tooth for me to see, and it did look pretty bad. I'm glad it wasn't in my mouth. I was about to take it from Specs to get a better look when Bumlets grabbed it and sort of lurched away. I feel kind of bad about it now, but me and Specs laughed a lot. It was funny at the time, you know? Anyhow, that was about lunch time, and we had our papes to sell, so he head out to find Dutchy, his selling partner, and I went off to the train station.  
The train station is a good place, especially for selling papes. To tell you the truth, I don't know how I got it. It's probably because there were more than one station in Manhattan, and the one I was at was the smaller of the two. Even so, it was a good selling spot, and whenever I got back I almost always had to fight off some other newsie selling there. It wasn't as violent as it sounds. I guess I'm kind of big for my age, and that scared a couple of my replacements off. A lot of the times the boys would get behind me and tell the other kid to sell somewhere else, so no one ever hit anyone else. Sometimes both me and another kid would end up selling there, but the regular travelers at the station always bought from me because they knew me. Sometimes people I didn't even know would buy from me over another guy. I never knew why. A girl once told me that for all I'm too big, I have an honest face, so maybe that's it. Anyhow, if you hang out at the train station, you get to know people that are always hanging around there. Not just ticket sellers or conductors or the guys who work on the tracks, either. There are some guys - some women too, actually - that must have the same wanderlust disease I've got, because they were always at the train station. They were always going someplace or another from that station, and they knew me, they recognized me as one of them. Another guy who's never content where he's at, and has to always be going places, and not all of them good. Some of the guys felt pretty paternal. There was one guy named Mike who was traveling all the time. I mean, the others traveled a lot, but I saw Mike all the time, once a week even. You see, Mike wasn't a rich guy, and he didn't take long trips. Sometimes he paid for his ticket, and sometimes he jumped on the train, but either way the trip didn't last long, and he was back at the station again. I liked Mike; he was a decent guy. He always looked kind of lost, though. I guess that's what happens when you travel that much. I wonder if that's how I look to people who just meet me. I asked him about it that day.   
When I got there, a train was just coming in - from Memphis, I think. After I'd done my rounds, selling to passengers and stuff, I turned around, and there was Mike. He looked like he'd traveled a long way - his hair was all messed up, and he needed to shave - but he clapped me on the back. He reached into a guy's pocket who was in too much of a hurry to notice, and paid me enough money for one newspaper.  
"So, I thought you were going to try it down South for a while, Rails."  
"Yeah, I did. It was good for a while, but too hot. Where you been?" I asked.  
"You know, boy, I don't much know. That's the way things are, sometimes."  
He gave answers like that a lot. Sometimes I thought he must be fall-down drunk when he was talking to me, but he never slurred his speech, and could always walk all right.   
"Mike, you know that don't mean nothing." I said.  
Mike sighed, looking up at the smoke clouding up the sky.  
"Boy, I'm going to give you some advice. Come on, walk with me." He put his arm around me, and we sort of walked along the platform till we got to the end, and then turned around and walked back again.  
"You probably wonder why I'm going to give advice to you, boy. Well, I'll tell you straight out, I see some of myself in you. You're never content where you are. You can be content, happy even, for a time, but eventually the Itch catches up with you."  
"The Itch?"  
"You know the Itch. I can see it in your eyes. It's when you're walking down a street in a town one day, and you feel that you can't stand it any more. The world is moving, but you're staying still, and you can't take it. It's like an itch underneath your skin where you can't scratch it. You come to hate everything about a place, from the slow, stupid people who sit on the street corners to the horses running down the streets who think that they're going so fast but are really going excruciatingly slow. You want to just scream - sometimes people say it, but they don't mean it. When I say it I mean when you really want to scream, when you can feel the scream sitting there in your throat, pushing to come out. It wants out so much that you can actually feel the muscles in you throat bunching, can feel it coming out of you till you want to choke on it because, you know what, it's not a real scream. That's when you've got to get out of there, feel like you're going somewhere. Melville said you've got to go to the sea, but, well, there aren't a lot of whaling ships around nowadays, and the sea's too slow for me anyway, so we settle for what we've got, and we hop a train out of wherever we are. That's the Itch. It's what makes us who we are, what makes us hop a train at three in the morning when we can't sleep without even saying goodbye. You got that, Rails?"  
"Yeah," I answered slowly, "Yeah, that's what I got."  
"Well, you just be careful of it, you hear? It's a curse is what it is. I…believe it or not, Rails, I used to be rich. Real class, you know? I was learned, and I read, and I had a college education."  
I couldn't help but laugh at this. Mike? A class gentlemen?  
"Yeah, you go on and laugh, Rails. I know I'm not much now. Hell, I know I haven't got enough to buy one of your damn papers straight up now, but I wasn't born that way. I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I'm telling you. But the Itch ruined that all for me. It cost me my money, my family, the girl I was going to marry…everything, just because I couldn't stay in one place too long."  
"How'd it do that?" I asked. I'll admit it, I was spellbound at that point. I wanted to know how the Itch, the wanderlust, could do that to a guy.  
"Well, I'll tell you, Rails. I was a real rich guy, a gentlemen of leisure. That means you're so rich that you don't even have to work. Problem was, I had the Itch. At first it wasn't a problem. My family had lots of homes. I got sick of my home, I'd pack up for the summer house. Got sick of that, head for the villa in Europe. I had a whole track of places I'd go. It got on people's nerves, you know. My family, they thought I couldn't stand to be near them. It was true, too, but it wasn't because I didn't like them. That wasn't it at all. It's just when I got the Itch, I couldn't stand to be near anybody, even the people I loved.   
'There was a girl, a high class girl in Europe. I was supposed to marry her, Rails, and I loved her. Her name was Josephine, and I'm telling you, just the thought of her…I can't…I just…I don't know. I loved her so much I could scarcely breathe when I saw her. I stayed in Europe for five years when I was with her, you know that? That's the longest I ever stayed in one place since I was old enough to move on without my folks. She eased the Itch a bit, just touching her hair, or breathing her scent…she settled me. Then the Itch came again. I was so mad, Rails, I thought it was gone for good when I met Josephine, I really did. When it came, I couldn't believe it, and I fought it. I'm telling you Rails, I fought it with all I had, but then one day it got so as I couldn't even look at her any more. I loved her, and I couldn't look at her. She knew something was wrong, she was a good girl, but I couldn't stand for her to touch me. It wasn't her, I loved her, but the Itch got so bad that I couldn't stay there any more. I told her, but she didn't believe me. She was an idealistic little thing, believed that our love could conquer everything, even the Itch. She was always saying things like that, that love and friendship and right could always win against everything."   
At this point he let out a hollow laugh. "Rails, people like you and me, we know better than that, don't we? Those damn idealists who think that if they just believe in something enough, they'll succeed in whatever damn crusade their on. People like you and me, though, we know that isn't true. We know that there are some battles that are lost from before you even start, like the battle with the Itch. I tried to fight it, Rails, I really did, but it was no use. I came to hate her and her blind idealism. I hated my family with their helpful comments, with their reassurances that it was only cold feet. Cold feet! God damn it, it wasn't cold feet! But the night before the wedding I snuck out at three in the morning, I bought a ticked to a steam liner back to America, and I haven't talked to Josephine since.   
'My family, they followed me, they told me to get back to Europe and to Josephine or they'd disown me. Well, I couldn't do it. The thought of going back there…the Itch was too strong, Rails. Too damn strong. No matter how much I loved her, wanted to believe in her, I knew we couldn't stand the Itch. There are some things that you just can't stand up to, Rails, and you're a damn fool if you try. I was a damn fool to try. The Itch punished me, you know. It's been worse since I left her. I used to be able to stay a year in one place, a month at least, but lately…it's been a week, two weeks, a month if I'm lucky."  
"Is that why you look so lost all the time?" I asked.  
"Yeah, that's why. I don't have a home any more, can never stay in one place long enough to get a steady job, a steady paycheck. Rails, this is the advice part. The Itch, it's bigger than everything else. For people like me, people like you, I think, the Itch is God, lord, and master. You've always got to answer when it calls you. It's like the bottle for some men, or women for others. The Itch…Rails, you'll think I'm insane, but you'll understand later on. The Itch, it's a real jealous thing. You need all the time and strength you've got to fight it. People like you and me, we don't have time for girls, for close friends, for idealistic crusades. We aren't like normal people. You get too involved in something, then the Itch comes with a vengeance, and if you try to fight it…well…I tried to fight it, and look what it came back and did to me.  
'Rails, you listen to me. I know I sound crazy, but you listen to me. We're the slaves of the Itch. We can't have too many people, too many things, tying us to one place. The way I've seen you come and go it doesn't seem that you've got many things keeping you in one place, and that's good, that's real good. I'm just warning you, you've got to keep it that way. As you get older, people will try to tie you down, to rope you into things…hell Rails, this doesn't even have to be about the Itch any more. There are some fights that you can't win, and people try to rope you into fighting them anyway. Josephine and my family tried to make me fight the Itch even though I knew that it couldn't be fought, and look what happened. It just came back and hurt me more. Someday, Rails, people are going to try and get you to fight some fight that you know is impossible too, and I'm telling you now, you don't go along with it. Maybe it's fighting the Itch, maybe it's fighting something else, but don't you go along with it, Rails! It always comes back to get you, always, always, always! Do you understand me, Rails? You don't go on those damn crusades, don't fight those unfightable fights, don't be like Josephine! Don't be like me, or it'll come back to get you! You hear me? People, they say they're your friends, your family, that they love you, they understand…they don't understand. Nobody understands what you're going through but you, or maybe others with the Itch, and we're few and far between, thank God.   
'Josephine, she tried going with me for a bit before I settled down for those five years…she hated it, she couldn't understand why I had to go just when she got comfortable. She didn't understand, couldn't understand my world, just like I couldn't understand hers. So Rails, these people that say they understand…they don't. They don't have the Itch picking at them every second, don't have your problems. People like us, people with the Itch hanging over them, we can't have any real friends, any real lovers… the Itch catches up with us if we do, and the Itch is a real jealous bastard. Do you understand, Rails?"  
"Yeah." I said, even though I didn't understand at all.  
"No, no you don't, damn kid. But you will. I see it there, in your eyes, hiding, waiting…I'm telling you now, you belong to it. You don't have a choice. Don't fight it, kid, it'll always win, and hurt you worse for fighting. Don't get too attached to one place, Rails, or it's just the harder when you've got to go."  
"All right." I said.  
A train whistle pierced through the train station commotion, and Mike looked at the approaching train like it was a magnet drawing him to it.  
"Listen to what I've said, Rails, and take care. I'll see you later, maybe."   
With that he jumped on to the train. No one saw him even though he was doing it in the middle of the station, in the middle of the day even. It was the sort of luck that never comes more than once in a blue moon. I remember thinking that maybe it was a sign, maybe it was someone saying that he was right, saying 'Rails, listen to this guy. Yeah, he sounds crazy, but he's older than you, has lived with this Itch, this wanderlust, longer than you have, and understands it better'. Maybe the Itch did control everything. I'd never tried to fight it. The way things were, I'd never had any friends keeping me to one place before I'd come to New York, and now that I was here, they weren't the kind of friends that expected me to stick around forever. But maybe Mike was right. I couldn't see Dutchy or Specs trying to rope me into anything that would pin me down, but maybe they would. I knew one thing. I didn't want to end up like Mike with that lost look in his eyes. I didn't want the Itch to get vengeful at me. I wouldn't get involved in any stupid crusades, any fights that couldn't be won.  
I didn't know how soon that resolution would be tested.  
  
  
The rest of the day kind of went by in a gray colored blur for me. Maybe it's cheating to say so. Maybe I'm supposed to remember everything I did or else it isn't a good memoir. The problem is, I really can't remember. I think that Dutchy, Specs, and I played poker (Bumlets still wasn't speaking to us). We were playing for real money at first, but then Race wanted to be dealt in, and we told him we were just playing for these old peanut shells. We none of us felt like losing our life savings right then, you know? Race played anyway, though. That boy's always been up for a game of poker, even if it's not even for money. It's the thrill of the game, I guess. Maybe it's kind of like the Itch for him. He mostly jokes around, but he gets this look in his eyes sometimes, this desperate, hungry look…but that's not what I'm supposed to be talking about, is it? Anyway, he mopped the floor with us. I did badly in particular because I was so caught up in thinking over what Mike had said to me. At one point I think that I looked around me and saw all the boys sitting there, laughing or smoking or playing cards or whatever, and it all felt so warm. Like a family or something, you know? Then I remembered what Mike said about none of them being like me because they didn't have the Itch, and it was like someone put a wall up. They were laughing and happy and warm, but I wasn't. I was alone from them. I had the Itch, and they didn't, and it would always be like that. I was surrounded by all these people, but I was completely alone. It's an intense feeling. I guess I was looking kind of weird, because I remember Dutchy shaking me and telling me I looked tired, and maybe I should get to bed. Specs made fun of him, said he was acting like a mother hen, but I took Dutchy's advice. The boys were being loud, but I got to sleep. I just sort of stared at the ceiling till I drifted off, and next thing I knew, Kloppman was swatting me upside the head because it was time to get up, time to carry the banner.  
I was kind of slow that day on account of feeling so apart from everyone. All the boys are real alive most mornings, jumping and fighting with each other, and some boys sing. Anyway, everyone's real alive and…rambunctious, I guess is the word for it. I felt like I was in a glass ball - there was a news story once about a boy who lived in a glass ball because he was so allergic to something called germs. It said that soon everybody was going to have to live in glass balls because of these germs. I hope that don't happen, because if it ever does, then you'd never be able to touch nobody - anybody, I mean - unless you were in the same glass ball. And you'd get sick of hanging around somebody all the time in a glass ball. And it would make travel real hard. You'd have to sort of roll yourself places, and there's no way you could jump a train in a glass ball.  
Anyhow, I felt like I was in a glass ball, and even though everyone was all shouting and happy around me, it didn't penetrate the glass. It was like they were all underwater or something. They weren't real. I think that's why I didn't get it right away when Kid Blink started going crazy when we got to the distribution center. It took till about the fourth time he shouted "They jacked up the prices on us! Why would they do that? They jacked up the prices!" for me to get what was going on. When I did get it, I got even more shocked that I was already. I mean, I felt apart from everybody before, but after I understood that…it was like there was a rushing in my ears, like when a train's coming, and I couldn't really hear nobody no more. Aw, I messed up my grammar again, didn't I?  
The boys were all a mess. Blink kept shouting, and some of the boys were swearing, punching walls and stuff. I thought one of the little boys was actually going to cry. I felt kinda bad for him, so I put my hand on his shoulder. Of course, I didn't really know him that well, and he just sort of glared at me and moved away. Nobody likes to be treated like a baby, even if he doesn't look a day over seven. After the little boy moved away, I saw Bumlets. He still looked kind of in pain from hat we did to his tooth, but he put it aside for long enough to point to the DeLancy's, who were making fun of us in the distribution office, and shake his head sadly. Dutchy and Specs came up then. Dutchy was kind of quiet. For a second I thought he didn't know or something, but he kept pushing his hand through his hair. It was a pretty normal thing to do, but it wasn't something he usually did. Then I noticed that his foot was tapping real nervous like. He wasn't really paying attention, and accidentally knocked his own glasses off. Specs caught'em before they hit the ground, and gave them back to Dutchy. Specs was acting weird. Bumlets had a sort of quiet grief going for him, and then Dutchy was getting really nervous and anxious. They were acting sort of how I expected them to. Specs…I sort of expected Specs to act like Blink, and be loud and emotional. It seemed to fit with his character. Well, I guess I didn't know Specs as well as I thought. He and Dutchy were sort of switching places. Usually Specs was doing stupid things, and Dutchy was the one looking after him, but now Specs was sort of calming down Dutchy. It was weird to see. People act weird when they're upset. It's kind of interesting to watch.  
Specs saw me then, and I guess I looked like I was in shock or something, because he asked me if I was okay. Like I said, I was feeling kind of like a train was going by, and I didn't quite hear him, so he repeated himself. He kind of shook me by the shoulders, and I snapped out of it. That's not a figure of speech, either. It was really like one minute everything was roaring and I felt like I was in a bubble, but then Specs shook me, and I heard a kind of pop in my mind, and everything came in focus again, and I could hear that the rushing was everybody's voices, and not a train at all. I can't explain it any better than that, and if you still don't understand, well, I don't understand it so good myself.  
That's when I noticed that Jack was there. I wasn't that close to him like some of the others were, and I didn't worship him like some others did. All the same, I'd heard of him. I mean, everybody's heard of the Cowboy. I respected him too. You gotta respect somebody who can hitch a ride on Teddy Roosevelt's carriage, right? So, it was being passed through the crowd that Cowboy was thinking of a way to fix this, and so that gave us a lot of hope. I mean, if anyone could figure out how to get us out of this fix, then it was Jack Kelly. Now, I wasn't right up there with him, so if you want to know exactly what he and that David Jacobs said, well, you'll have to ask somebody else. It shouldn't be too hard to find somebody who knows. If you go by the way they tell it now, the whole newsie population was right there in the front row when Jack Kelly decided that we oughtta go on strike.  
Well, I'll be honest with you. I don't much remember what happened. I mean, I've been giving you some other scenes word-by-word, but I can't do that now. I know, I know, this part is important, but what I remember is feelings more than anything else. Besides, most of what I heard was second hand. But I'll try my best, okay? I guess David made some joke about going on strike, and Jack took it serious. David started saying that we couldn't go on strike because we weren't a union, and Jack said that if we went on strike, that was all we needed to become a union. Everyone was sort of laughing at Jack because it was such a ridiculous idea, and I was too. I thought that Cowboy had gone a little off his rocker, you know? But next thing I know he's jumped up on that old Horace Greenley statue and is shouting at us. This bit I do remember. He looked at us and he said "You know, Davey's right, Pulitzer and Hearst are some really important fellas, and they ain't gonna listen to a bunch of street kids like us." Well, I felt kind of bad about it. I knew it was truth, but I felt bad all the same, you know? And then Jack says "Then the choice has got to be yours! Are we just going to take what they give us, or are we going to strike?"  
We were all quiet then. It was a tense time, you know? I felt like I was walking on a tightrope, just like they do at the circuses. I think we all of us were balancing there on that tightrope, and on one side was striking, and on the other was not, and we were all balancing there on that tightrope so that the smallest breeze could knock us over. Well, this little kid - it was actually Les, David's brother, now that I think on it - he shouted out "Strike!" That one word, that one little shout from one little boy, it was the breeze, and it knocked us all off the tightrope and into the strike. I still can't figure out how one little boy shouting one little word started this whole thing.   
We were a lot of young kids, and we were angry because the world was unfair, and we wanted to do something about it. I think there are a lot of people like that in the world, but they don't know what they can do. We didn't either until Jack came up with this strike. It's the natural thing for young kids to feel like they can change the world. I mean, lots of stuff got started that way. Wasn't it a bunch of young guys who thought they could change the world that dumped a bunch of tea into a harbor in Boston, and they sort of started the Revolutionary War, didn't they? I saw a monument for all the young guys who thought they could change the world in the Revolutionary War. It was in Philadelphia, I think. I know we won, and I know we beat England pretty bad, but I remember wondering just how any of those guys could have thought it was a good idea. Yeah, let's go dump tea in the ocean. Let's go tell these big guys that have been the boss of us for who-knows-how-long that we ain't colonies no more. We're states, we're our own country, and we're sick of you King George, so take your soldiers and your guns and your cannons and go home. Yeah, that sounds real smart, don't it? I saw this cemetery one time - I think it was in Boston, but I don't quite remember. There were these graves that were for little kids who had died back in the Revolutionary War. I couldn't read it at the time, but this old lady who was planting flowers said the kids were my age. They died for that. So when I was looking at that grave I remembered the monument, and I wondered why any of them thought it was a good idea. Well, now I know. They must have felt the same way I did when Jack got on that Horace Greenley statue and made that speech of his.  
I could never remember the exact words that he said, and that's a shame, because I want to know what words could make a group of kids go crazy like that. There was a lot of shouting "The World will know!" and I could never figure out if he meant the paper or the actual world. Jack kept saying that Pulitzer and Hearst thought we were nothing, the world thought we were nothing, but we weren't, and we were going to show them, and then The World would know that we weren't gong to take being stepped on all the time. I don't remember the exact words because they didn't seem so important. It was the feelings that swept me up. I can't explain it right. It's like…it's like I was on fire or something. I mean, I think everyone wants to change the world, wants to think that they can do something that matters, and here was Jack saying we ought to do just that. It felt real good, you know? It feels good to be part of something that's bigger than just yourself. And I was bigger than myself. The boys around me, it was like they were all part of me, or I was part of them. Like I was just a finger or a toe on this big giant that was the Strike, and it felt good. I couldn't really think of anything outside of how we were going to stick it to that Pulitzer guy, and how he was going to wish he'd never messed with the newsboys. It was like all those emotions that everybody has but usually has enough sense to ignore welled up inside, and started pushing my sense away till they filled up all of me, and then when there wasn't enough room in my body to keep all them emotions, they pushed their way out. I was jumping and shouting, trying to get all those emotions out. I tried later to think what emotion is was exactly. I think it was anger more than anything else. Anger's not quite the right word for it though. Rage maybe. But it wasn't a bad rage, it was a good one. It was like, we were angry at how Pulitzer was screwing us over, and angry at how the whole world had always stepped on us, and we knew we were right to be angry about it, and now we were going to do something about it. It felt real good. I know I'd never done anything my whole life that made me feel as good as standing in that crowd shouting "Strike!" did. I felt like I could change the world, and I should change the world. It was exciting.   
So, you're probably wondering if being a striker felt so good, why'd I sell out and become a scab? Well, it's kind of a confusing thing. I was jumping and shouting in that crowd, and I felt damn invincible. I felt like those young guys dumping tea in Boston Harbor must have felt, like God and right was on my side, and I could fight against anybody - King George, Pulitzer, anybody- and anything, and I would win. The problem was, I thought those words. Up till then I'd been thinking in…in…hell, I don't think I was really thinking at all. Jumping crowds of shouting boys don't usually think much, do they? I wasn't thinking at all until that thought crossed my mind - 'I could fight against anybody and anything, and I would win'. That thought is what killed me. I remembered Mike's face, his lost and said eyes, and I remember what he told me.  
"Those damn idealists who think that if they just believe in something enough, they'll succeed in whatever damn crusade their on. People like you and me, though, we know that isn't true. We know that there are some battles that are lost from before you even start, like the battle with the Itch. I tried to fight it, Rails, I really did, but it was no use."  
I was being one of those damn idealists, wasn't I? I was thinking that just because I believed in Jack and the other boys, just because I believed that we had what it took, we could beat out Pulitzer himself. The idea was crazy, absurd. Why was I doing this?  
"There are some fights that you can't win, and people try to rope you into fighting them anyway. Josephine and my family tried to make me fight the Itch even though I knew that it couldn't be fought, and look what happened. It just came back and hurt me more. Someday, Rails, people are going to try and get you to fight some fight that you know is impossible too, and I'm telling you now, you don't go along with it. Maybe it's fighting the Itch, maybe it's fighting something else, but don't you go along with it, Rails! It always comes back to get you, always, always, always!"  
I thought of what Mike said, and the fire went all out of me. My sense took over again, and I felt like I was different than the rest of the mob. I was one of them before. I felt like I was attached to them, part of them, we could fix the world…but I wasn't one of them, was I? I had the Itch, and they didn't. They were roping me into fighting Pulitzer, just like Mike had warned me. Wasn't that what Mike had said?  
"Nobody understands what you're going through but you, or maybe others with the Itch, and we're few and far between, thank God. These people that say they understand…they don't. They don't have the Itch picking at them every second, don't have your problems."  
They thought I was like them. They thought I was going to be able to stick around here with them, thought I was going to be able to fight these stupid fights with them. Mike had told me though, he'd told me that you've got to leave those unwinnable fights unfought or else they come and get you. He'd warned me about this, and then he'd gone and jumped a train in broad daylight in the middle of a crowded station. Now, it was illogical, but seeing him jump that train like that…it moved him up in my eyes, you know? And so then, standing there in the middle of the mob, I saw him as some sort of guardian angel or something. He was someone who had been sent to warn me about this, and then he'd made that unbelievable jump - broad daylight, middle of the station, and no one saw…I still can't believe it - to show that he was right. It was a sign or something.   
I was thinking of that sign, of that warning, and I decided that I didn't want this idealistic crusade to catch up with me. The fire was all out of me now, and I saw the strikers as a bunch of stupid kids who were heading to disaster, and I was lucky to get out now. I had seen them as friends and brothers before, but now…now I knew that I wasn't like them. I had the Itch. So even if I wanted to be a finger or toe in that great monster Strike, I couldn't be. I slipped away, and there were so many others in that giant Strike that they didn't notice my slipping out any more than you would miss a single hair if you got a haircut.  
  



	2. Running Away

  
Memoirs of a Scab  
Part 2 - Running Away  
  
Disclaimer (sorry I forgot this in the first part): Newsies and the Newsies characters are property of Disney, and I'd never presume to try and cheat them by making money off of this. Rails (and Mike too), however, are mine.  
  
  
So I slipped away from the giant mob, and I'm telling you I had to travel for blocks and blocks before I stopped hearing everybody's voices. They were echoing in the alleys and streets. Or maybe they were just echoing inside my head. I could hear them long after I couldn't see them no more - any more - and then I began to run. I'm not much of a runner most of the time, but I was feeling so bad, so alone, I just ran. I don't think I even knew where I was going at the time. I just tore through the streets so fast I couldn't see where I was going. I remember some guy who thought he was smart shouting "Hey, son, where's the fire?" and then laughing. Real clever. No one ever thought of that line before. I'm usually pretty easygoing about that sort of thing - I mean, if you hang around Mush long enough, you get used to stupid jokes - but I just wanted to spit at that guy.  
I was running as fast as I could, but like I said, I'm no runner. Sometimes you gotta run a little to keep up with a train when you're going to jump on it, and I don't do much more than that. So I was getting pretty tired, and I had this stitch in my side, and I couldn't help but slow down. By this time I'd left the voices shouting "Strike!" behind, and didn't really know where I was. That's gotta sound real funny coming from me, what with my having been a newsie and all. Three things I learned real well from being a newsie: how to read, how to lie, and how to make my way around New York. So when I looked up and didn't know right away where I was, I got kinda nervous. Naw, I'll tell it to you straight, I was downright terrified. I wasn't thinking straight, what with all the confusion I'd been going through and stuff, and I thought I'd…I dunno, I thought I'd run farther than I thought, and ended up in Jersey or somewhere. Now, it's real babyish, but I said I'd tell it to you straight, so I am. I felt kinda like I wanted to cry. I didn't cry. But you know, I felt like I kinda wanted to. It wasn't the being lost. I mean, it couldn't be, I spend most of my time lost. You show up in a new city, the first thing you do is explore, and unless you're some kinda genius or something, you don't really know where you're going. I'd spent plenty of time wandering around in strange places to not be worried about getting a little lost. But this time it was like… I dunno, it was like I'd never been really lost before. That isn't making sense. What I guess I'm trying to say is that I'd been lost a million times if you want lost to mean you don't know where your body is, couldn't point out where you are on a map. That was nothing new. In fact, it was familiar. But I'd never felt lost before.   
I think I knew that I'd done something just then. Walking out on that strike mob, I knew that I'd walked out on more than some stupid crusade. I think I knew that things'd never be the same again. I'd gotten out, they hadn't roped me into their unwinnable fight, but I was having second thoughts about whether I wanted out or not. I guess that's what I mean by feeling lost. My mind was all messed up. I usually know what I want, or if I'm confused about something, it's not something important. Now it was like I knew that something important was happening, and I'd have to pick a side, but I was so damn confused! I didn't know what exactly the important thing was. I mean, there was a strike on, I knew that, but that wasn't the important thing. There was something more. It wasn't about a tenth of a cent or Pulitzer and Hearst screwing us working kids. It was like there was a fight beneath the obvious fight, and that was what I was really taking sides on, only I didn't know which side was good and which was bad, or even what the sides really were. You confused? Good, 'cuz that's how I was feeling. And I promise you it's a hundred times worse actually feeling it than it is hearing about it.  
So, that's how I was feeling when I was sitting there on a street corner. I sat there, looking up at the sky, thinking about the weather so that I didn't have to think about anything real. Maybe that's why those high-class ladies are always talking about the weather. So they don't have to deal with what they really think. I wanted to do that right then, but I wasn't too good at it. I sat there, staring at the sky, trying my hardest to think nothing but "Wow, the sky's real blue today, ain't it? It wasn't like that last night. It rained yesterday. It's kinda funny it cleared up so quick. Hey, that cloud looks like a horse", but that didn't work so good. I chattered like one of those debutantes on the top of my brain, but I was still thinking things like "I should be glad I got out. I mean, Mike said that these things always come back to bite you. Still, I almost wish I was there. I know it can't work. I've got the Itch, I won't be able to stay till it's through. They won't understand that. I'm not like them, and they can't understand that, so that's why I can't fight with them. I ain't doing nothing wrong! So why do I feel like I'm dong something horrible?" You know, with thoughts like that swirling around just underneath the surface of my brain, all the crap I tried to think about the weather just didn't do nothing. So I stood up.  
I still didn't know where I was, but I figured I knew New York, so if I kept walking, I was bound to find someplace that I knew. You'd be surprised at how often that strategy works. So I was walking, and walking, and thinking too. I was hoping that maybe all my friends would forget about this strike stuff. I mean, yeah, they'd seemed as determined as I'd ever seen them back there, but the fire had gone out of me, so why not them too? I mean, it probably hadn't happened yet, but it would eventually, right? Of course it would. Well, delusions are a great thing, and as I walked I became positive that everything would blow over, that it would all go back to normal. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm crazy because just a little while ago I was talking about how I knew that something had changed forever. Well, I told you delusions were great things, didn't I? I wanted things to go back to normal so much that I truly believed that everything could go back to the way it was before. You're thinking I'm crazy now, I can tell. Well, you can think that, but someday you're going to want something as much as I wanted that. I don't know what - maybe it's a girl, or a boy depending on who you are, or maybe it's your parents. I know plenty of orphans who want their parents more than anything else in the world. Whatever it is, you'll want it so bad that you can see it, feel it, taste it, even though it ain't real. When that happens you'll think to yourself "Damn, I guess Rails was right", and then you'll know what I'm talking about.  
That's when it came to me. It was the perfect solution. I believed that everything would go back to normal in time, and I didn't want to deal with this strike nonsense in the meantime. So, what could be more natural and normal than my skipping out of town until this whole mess was over with? A week or two should do it. Hell, I could stay away longer if I wanted to. At any rate, by the time I got back, the strike would be over with. This way I wouldn't have to pick a side, and nothing would ever have to change.  
It's funny, but the second my mind was completely made up, I wasn't lost any more. I knew exactly where I was, and exactly how to get to the train station. I set out at a jog, glad that my mind was made up.  
  



	3. Mistake

  
  
Memoirs of a Scab  
Part 3 - Mistake  
  
  
Disclaimer: Newsies is property of Disney, and I'm not making any money off of this fanfiction. The story and the character of Rails are mine.  
  
  
I stood there, waiting for the next train. I was feeling kinda bad about skipping out on my friends and all, but I made sure I didn't think about it too much. I just thought about how I was going to get out of there, come back in a few weeks, and everything would be back to normal. I thought about how smart I was to think of this plan that would keep me from having to take a side in this whole thing. Yeah, it was cowardly, I know. What can I say? Maybe I'm a coward. I don't know.  
"Hey Rails! Where's the paper?" asked an old man, a regular at the train station.  
"I ain't selling today, sir." I answered.  
"Leaving again so soon? You just got in."  
"Yeah, well…I'll be back later."  
"You know where you're going this time?"  
"Wherever the train takes me, I guess."   
The man laughed. "See you later, kid."   
"Yeah, later."  
A train whistle pierced the normal chatter of the train station. I looked around. Businessmen in newly pressed suits held their tickets in one hand, and their briefcases in another. Little kids pressed their faces into their mother's skirts, a little afraid of the train. I knew my part. I walked inconspicuously out of the station. As soon as I was out of sight of the people on the platform, I jogged up one alley, down another, and emerged by a stretch of unguarded track. Like I said before, it's almost impossible to jump on a train in the middle of a station. It's crowded, and if a policeman or guard don't see you, someone else almost certainly will, and point you out to somebody in a position to get you in a whole lot of trouble. Usually it's just smarter to jump on the train when it gets just out of sight of the station. That way the police don't pull you off, but the train's not going so fast that you can't jump on it. Sometimes the bulls stake out these places, trying to catch bums and hoboes so they can go back to their boss and say 'look what a good job I've done'. Makes me kinda sick. I mean, we ain't hurting nobody. Or is it anybody? Anyway, the only people you could say we're stealing from are the railroad companies, and I'm telling you, they've got enough money. They can spare some for a guy who don't got any, but still needs to get somewhere. But no, they only spare it for the guys who've got money. They give kickbacks to the rich guys, you see. Pulitzer don't never pay when he goes on a train! To hell with this grammar stuff. The railroad's so happy to have him on board, they don't bother him with buying a ticket. Pulitzer, whose got more money than any guy I know! But me, if I try to get on the train for a stretch without paying, they have a fit. The damn railroads cheat people anyway. The way I see it, a passenger like me is just part payback for the crap they put people through. Long-short haul, kickbacks, buying up all the food silos along the railroad route…I'm getting way off track now. Anyway, the railroad companies are always trying to cheat people, and then they go and complain to the bulls about how people like me are always cheating them, so the bulls go and stake out some stretches of track to catch people that are getting free rides. I've seen it done, but I usually get away all right. This place was safe enough though. I'd used this space of track to jump the train more times than I can count. I know what you're thinking. Famous last words, right? Huh.  
I squinted down the track, and I could see the train coming. Like a big, angry animal, breathing black smoke. I could see how those little kids got scared, and hid in their mother's skirts. It came closer, and I started jogging along. The train came about level with me, and I sped up. I'd done this a million times; I knew what I was doing. I didn't even have to think about it. The first few cars passed me by, and then I saw the one I wanted. Kinda beat up looking, with the paint peeling a little. I put on a little burst of speed, and then I jumped- and I was pulled back down to the ground. The train kept going, streaked right on by, and I was left behind on the ground. I had an idea of what had pulled me back, but I was afraid to look around. Like if I didn't look, it wouldn't be true. But maybe I wasn't as cowardly as I said earlier, 'cuz I looked anyway.  
It was a policeman. One of those types I was talking about before that stake out a stretch of track to catch the train jumpers and haul'em into jail. Damn. Just my luck. He grabbed the collar of my shirt, and pulled me along behind him. He didn't even explain to me what I did wrong. He didn't need to. I knew, he knew, and boy was I in trouble. Well, don't let anyone say I just went along with it - no way, I fought like hell. He only dragged me a couple of feet before I dug my feet in, and ran the other way. My collar ripped, so he lost his hold, and I started off after the train. I knew that if I could get a little farther away, there was another alley, and if I ran down that alley, I could get to the city, and I knew a million twists and turns to lose the guy there. So I ran full out, but I guess I'd tired myself out with my running before, because I wasn't as fast as I wanted to be. I heard the policeman coming up behind me, and I tried to run faster, but after a while it was like running through water. It wasn't a matter of wanting to go faster - I wanted it with just about everything in me - but I just couldn't go faster. My legs were burning too, and it was kinda hard to breathe. I'm sure you've gotten to the point where you just can't run any more. Well, I was feeling like that, and I was pushing myself on, when I felt this pain in the back of my head. The policemen had hit me in the back of the head with that stick that policemen always carry. I went down like a bag of bricks. You'd think it was enough I'd stopped, but no, he kept going. He kept hitting me with that damn stick, and even though I twisted and turned as much as possible, I couldn't dodge the stick all the time, and it hurt. Eventually I hurt so bad that I couldn't move no more - any more - and that's when he stopped. He grabbed my arm, and hauled me to my feet. He dragged me along - I don't know the route he took. I couldn't concentrate on anything but how much it'd hurt. It was sort of like I was vaguely aware of him taking me somewhere, and I kinda knew that I should fight back some more, but it hurt too much. It hurt like red lights underneath my skin, and the hurt never gave me a break. It even hurt to breathe. So you'll excuse me, but it was hard enough to walk in the first place without keeping track of where I was going.   
Eventually the policeman stopped pulling me along, and sort of shoved me down. I sank down in this dingy looking corner. I just sort of sat huddled there, rocking back and forth. The way that cop had beat me up - that hurt. I just can't tell you how much it hurt. I suppose there were a lot of things I could have been thinking about - about what they were going to do to me, about how this was a reaction tons bigger than my crime deserved - but it was like I really couldn't think about anything but the pain. Someone kicked me, and I felt a spasm of pain go up my body, and I moaned. I felt awful, and I musta looked it too, but that person kicked me again, and I looked up. It was Weasel, the guy in charge of selling us our papers. I sort of vaguely wondered what he was doing there - the surprise of the situation kinda broke through all the pain - when he grabbed my arm and pulled me up. He wasn't too gentle about it either. I started to scream, but I didn't never want to scream in front of Weasel, and so it ended up this kind of choking sound. I musta sounded pretty bad, because I think I heard another policeman say to the cop that had soaked me "Jesus Christ, Bob, what'd you do to him?"  
I didn't have much time to be glad that someone was on my side because next thing I knew Weasel had stuck his face right in mine. I was an inch away from that guy's repulsive mug, yellowing teeth and bad breath and everything.  
"You're a newsie sometimes, aren't you, boy?" he asked.  
I tried to think of something smart to say. Something that Jack or Race or somebody woulda said, but I couldn't. I hurt too bad, and I was never good at saying smart aleck stuff anyway. I just sort of groaned "Yeah."  
"Your little friends are on strike, you know that?"  
"Yeah."  
"Well why aren't you with them?"  
"I dunno." I groaned.  
"Officer Johnson says you were trying to jump on a train without paying. Why were you doing that?"  
"I just felt like leaving." Was what I wanted to say, but I think I ended up with this moan that nobody understood.  
Weasel let go of my arm, and I fell back onto the floor. I lay there, and I just hurt too much to move. I hurt real bad.  
"He's broken." Weasel said. "He'll do. Bring him down to The World printing headquarters with the others. Those strikers'll get a surprise tomorrow."  
If I had been thinking then, I would've figured out what Weasel had in mind. As beat up as I was, I think I still might've said something. I still might've said "Take me to jail, but there's no way I'm doing turning my back on my friends." But I wasn't thinking, see. I just knew that these two cops pulled me up to my feet again, and they hauled me into this prison car. They shoved some more kids in there with me, and then slammed the door shut. I thought I was going to jail, or the Refuge, or somewhere. I should've realized that if I was going to jail, they would've put me through a trial. Nothing real, no real justice for guys like me, but a judge has gotta be the guy to sentence me. I didn't think that though. All I knew was that the way the car rocked back and forth made me hurt even more.   
None of the other kids seemed to be confused as to what was going on. At least, they didn't ask questions. They saw how hurt I was, and they just gave me my space. We was all real quiet in that car, and then it stopped. And it wasn't a smooth stop, either; it was a real jerky one. It kinda threw me into the kid in front of me. Then the cops pulled open the doors, and the other kids jumped out. I couldn't climb too good, so one of the cops pulled me out, and helped me walk. For a second I thought 'This must be what it's like to be Crutchy.'   
Outside I recognized where we were - we were at The World printing presses. The cops seemed kind of nervous, and kept looking over their shoulders as they pushed us inside. Then they led us up these stairs, and down this hallway that I didn't recognize. Well, I suppose that ain't so surprising. I'd never actually been inside the building.   
They kept leading us around, and I got pretty tired. I mean, I'd been soaked pretty bad, and I just wanted to lie down. I didn't even care where any more - a prison cell would've been just fine with me. Eventually we got to this big room that looked like someone had tried to make it into a lodging house real quick. There were a couple of bunk beds by the wall, and mats with blankets and pillows everywhere else. The cop left me there, and I crawled over to the nearest mat to lie down.  
"Someone'll come in to get you up at four tomorrow. You all got money?" asked a cop.  
A couple of guys nodded, but some others shook their heads.  
"All of you that don't got money, you line up here tomorrow morning, and you'll get enough money to buy twenty five papers. And you better use it for that, too. If you don't, we'll know."  
Well, I know you'll think I'm real stupid, but it was only then that I realized what was going on. I guess Weasel or Pulitzer or somebody had talked to the bulls, because they'd hauled a whole bunch of guys who'd broke the law in here. Why? Well, they knew that no real newsie would ever volunteer to be a scab. Hell, even I wouldn't have volunteered if they asked me. At least I don't think I would've. So they grabbed whatever they could get their hands on from the local jail, and they'd made us into scabs. I moaned, and rolled over. I closed my eyes to try and sleep. I hurt too much to deal with this.  
  



	4. Scab

Memoirs of a Scab Part 4 - Scab  
  
Disclaimer: Newsies is property of Disney, and I'm not making any money off of this. The story and the characters of Rails and Mike, and all of the scabs (except for the DeLanceys, of course) are mine  
  
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was that I didn't hurt any more. That's not right - I still hurt. I still hurt a lot, actually, but it wasn't the horrible pain from before. It was still there underneath everything I did, but it was in the background now. Before I couldn't think about anything but the pain, and now it had gone away enough for me to get on with life. I had some bandages on me, and so I guessed they'd brought a doctor to see me while I was sleeping. It was about one or two in the afternoon when I'd been hauled into the World headquarters, and I'd fallen asleep right away. From the way the other boys grumbled, I guessed that it was early morning, about time to start selling the papers. "Get up, you little brats!" snarled a voice that I vaguely recognized. I rubbed my eyes, and looked around. There was Oscar DeLancey by the doorway, growling at people, and hitting them around the head when they didn't move fast enough.  
  
I never thought I'd miss Kloppman's morning wakeup call.  
  
"Hey you!" It was Oscar.  
  
"I'm coming, I'm coming," I muttered, dragging myself up.  
  
"Wait a sec - I know you." He grabbed my shoulder, and turned me towards him so he could get a better look. I hoped that he wouldn't recognize me through the bruises.  
  
"We don't got time for this, Oscar! Just get the punks moving, or Weasel'll have our heads!" shouted Morris from outside, where he was distributing paper money to the kids who didn't have any.  
  
"Yeah, all right, move it!" shouted Oscar, shoving me towards the door. I kinda lost my footing, and stumbled into a boy in front of me. He whirled around all angry, looking like he was going to punch me or something, but stopped when he saw who I was.  
  
"Hey, it's you. The invalid awakes. You feeling all right?" the guy asked.  
  
"I'll live," I mumbled.  
  
"A couple of us was worried about you. You looked real bad. We convinced that Weasel guy to call for a doctor."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Hey, you got a name?"  
  
"I'm Rails. Who're you?"  
  
"Rye. I'm a gypsy," he whispered, like it was some big secret or something, and then he grinned, probably because he knew anyone could tell he was a gypsy just be looking at him. He had dark skin, and black hair that was kinda curly. He had a gold ring in one ear, and when he smiled real big you could tell he had one gold tooth too.  
  
"Yeah?" I said, "You gonna do any gypsy magic on me?"  
  
"Well. I don't really know any. I haven't been with gypsies since I was real little. But I'll find a band again that'll take me, and then I'll make all of that guy's," he pointed to Oscar, "hair fall out. How's that sound?"  
  
"Sounds good to me, Rye. Real good."  
  
"Hey - you got enough money to buy twenty five papers?"  
  
"No," I answered. I actually did have enough, but the first rule of life in general is never turn down a chance at free money.  
  
"Then you and I both have gotta see this guy over here," said Rye, steering me into line behind him.  
  
I was afraid that Morris would recognize me. After all, Oscar almost had, and probably would have if he'd had a better look at me. Now, you probably know that the DeLanceys and the newsies have a sort of war going on. If the DeLanceys found out that I was a newsie, they'd never leave me alone. I was actually kinda glad for the soaking that cop gave me. I wasn't stupid, I knew the DeLanceys would recognize me somewhere down the line, but the later the better, I figured. And besides, I wasn't planning on staying around that long anyway. As soon as I was feeling good enough to jump a train, then I was out of there. Maybe I could even get out before the DeLanceys recognized me. I tried pushing my hair around to cover my face, so Morris wouldn't think he knew me. I think Rye knew I was up to something, but he didn't say nothing.  
  
"Here," Morris grunted when it was Rye's turn."You use all of it on papers, or I'll soak you, understand?"  
  
"Thanks sir," answered Rye, grinning so that Morris could see the gold tooth. Rye flipped the coin up in the air, and caught it again. Then it was my turn.  
  
"Here. You use all of it on papers, or I'll soak you even worse than you are already," Morris growled, shoving the money at me. I took it nervously. I think I almost dropped it. I kept my head down so Morris couldn't see my face. Then I was the door, away from Morris, and safe. I couldn't help sighing.  
  
"What's the matter with you? You know that guy?" asked Rye.  
  
"What? No. No way," I answered. I think he could probably tell I was lying, but he didn't bug me about it. That was decent of him.  
  
"So, you know anything about selling newspapers?" asked Rye.  
  
"Yeah," I answered. "I know a thing or two."  
  
"Well, that's a thing or two more than I know. Share the wealth."  
  
"Yeah, well.what you gotta do is, you gotta improve the headline."  
  
"Huh?" asked a kid with real blond hair -blonder than Dutchy even.  
  
"Oh, this is Albino. Albino, this is Rails." Said Rye.  
  
" So youse alive after all." Said Albino.  
  
"You one of the ones who called a doctor?" I asked.  
  
"Yeah, I was there. It was me and Rye and Christian over there. Hey Christian! The invalid's alive!"  
  
"Thank the Lord! It's a miracle! The leper walks!" shouted a guy with brown hair and real thick eyebrows. He made a big show of getting down on his knees, and crossing himself and stuff. He was just making fun of it though. He kept saying stuff that I guess was prayers, and wagging his eyebrows around when he did it.  
  
"Shut up and get over there, stupid!" shouted Oscar, shoving him towards the door.  
  
Christian, Rye, Albino and me started walking down the stairs. Morris and Oscar looked like they was about to start throwing punches, and we weren't looking forward to being there when they started.  
  
"So, what'd you say about improving headlines or something?" asked Albino.  
  
"Oh yeah. Rails here says he knows a little about selling papers," said Rye.  
  
"Ah, the Lord rewards those who obey His will and give charity! I don't know a thing about it," said Christian.  
  
"Yeah, well, you gotta improve the headlines. That means, like.if the headline says something, you make it bigger. Like, a couple of days ago the headline said Trolley Strike Drags On For Third Week. Nobody wants to read that. Nobody wants to read nothing that ain't interesting. You gotta grab their attention, you know? So, most people didn't use that headline. It was pretty bad."  
  
"So you don't gotta use the headline on the front page?" I think Albino was shocked.  
  
"Naw, especially if it's that bad. There was other stuff. There was a baby born with two heads, and a trash fire on Ellis Island. Now those have got potential, you know? A baby born with two heads- well, you can make that into all sorts of stuff. Mutant born in Brooklyn. Now, if you got a choice to but something that talks about a mutant born in Brooklyn, or a trolley strike dragging on, which are you gonna choose?"  
  
"Yeah, that makes sense," said Rye, nodding his head.  
  
"Oh, and if it's a really slow news day, and you can't find nothing at all, then you just look through for something from Washington DC. If you find any story about Washington, then you just shout 'Big Scandal at the White House!' People never get tired of those."  
  
"Hey, how d'you know all this stuff?" asked Christian.  
  
"I.I've sold a paper or two."  
  
"Yeah? Well, we's got our selves a regular veteran here. You don't mind if we stick with you, right?" asked Christian.  
  
"After all, you might just keel over from your horrible wounds. You'll need us to carry you to the hospital-" began Rye.  
  
"And deliver you into the salvation of that pretty nurse that came with the doctor yesterday!" crowed Christian.  
  
I just shook my head. Anyone could be having this conversation. Jack or Mush or Specs or anyone. They were scabs, but they were just like the newsies. I guess kids are kids wherever you go - scab, striker, whatever. When I thought about it wherever I'd ever gone - from New York to Virginia to Kansas - there was always guys that would make jokes about and be crazy for girls. Some things are the same wherever you go . These scabs were the same as the strikers somehow. Thinking that was a bad thing. It made this sort of pang of longing go through me. The newsies, they was my friends, and I was missing them. That wasn't even it. I knew I was betraying them. They was my friends, and what was I doing? Turning my back on them, selling them out for safety from the cops. I mean, couldn't I have done something back there, with Weasel and the policeman? Could I still do something? I felt awful. Dirty or something.  
  
There was a big basket of bread and stuff outside the door. We all grabbed some, and I was glad for it. I hadn't eaten in what seemed like ages. I guessed Pulitzer must have provided the food for us.  
  
"Hey, you guys don't mind if I ask a question, right?" I said, biting into the bread. "Go ahead," asnwered Rye.  
  
"I was wondering.you know that there's a newsie strike on, right?"  
  
"Yeah, we know. And thank Jesus, Mary, and all the saints for them newsies, making a cozy little place for us here," said Christian, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling, and wagging his eyebrows around again.  
  
"But don't you feel kinda bad? I mean, we're taking their jobs. We're keeping the strike from working, ain't we?"  
  
The guys just laughed. I mean really laughing. Albino was holding his stomach, and Christian was leaning on Albino, and Rye had tears in his eyes they were laughing so hard. "It ain't so funny!" I said. I was kind of hurt. I'd been beating myself up over this, and they didn't care about it at all.  
  
"Aw, Rails, youse a regular saint," said Christian, putting his hands together like he was praying and fluttering his eyelashes.  
  
"Never thought I'd see one," commented Albino.  
  
"My, my, so they walk the Earth after all," teased Rye.  
  
"Shaddup!" I shouted, shoving Christian into Albino.  
  
"Calm down, Rails. We don't mean nothing by it," said Rye.  
  
"It's just.you're probably the only guy in this place who's worried about the guy whose job you got. A saint, like I said," explained Christian.  
  
"Yeah, well, there ain't nothing wrong with being worried about them strikers. I just wanna know why you guys went and did this," I said. I was afraid they'd start to laugh again, and so I glared at them real hard. I don't much like being laughed at.  
  
"It's a job, Rails. It's money in my pocket. I've been screwed over in life so far - hell, I think all of us have. So, if God ain't gonna give me the means to make myself a living the good way, and Weasel is gonna give me the means to provide for myself in a bad way, then I'll take the bad way over no way at all. Yeah, it means screwing over the strikers out there, but I've got enough to worry about taking care of myself. I don't got time to worry about them too. Hey, I'm sorry for them, but I gotta look after myself. Nobody else is going to," said Christian.  
  
He seemed kind of bitter, and if life and God had been as bad to him as all that, I thought I knew then why he made such fun of religion and stuff. I guess I don't blame him. You shouldn't either. He was a decent guy. I mean, he said he looked out for himself and no one else, but that wasn't really true. He looked out for me, didn't he? He called a doctor. He didn't have to do that, him and the others. They stuck out their necks for me, a stranger. The nuns would probably say I don't know what I'm talking about, and maybe I don't, but I figure that a guy who'll go out of his way to help someone he don't even know is a good and holy person, even if he does talk crap about God and religion, and says he won't look out for anyone else. The nuns said lying was a sin, but I figure Christian's lies weren't all that bad. They say all those jokes he made were sins too, but they weren't really hurting nobody but God, and He can take care of himself, I guess. Anyway, in case you're planning on judging Christian too harsh on account of all the jokes he made about God and stuff, just remember that he did good things for me, and I doubt he'd do that if he was really the devil's man like some people said.  
  
"Yeah, that's right," said Rye, agreeing with Christian. "And you're forgetting that it gets us out of jail. I mean, I spend more time in jail than out of it. Gypsies are supposed to be master thieves, and I will be too when I take up with a band of gypsies, but till then.well, I'm not that good at it yet. So, I got the reputation of a thief, but I don't got the skills. It ain't hard for a cop to haul me in to jail. Hell, he don't need no other evidence than the fact I'm a gypsy. And jail, it.it ain't much fun in there. I'll do whatever I gotta do to get out of there," said Rye. You know, he was always smiling, but not when he talked just then. He never joked about jail.  
  
"Yeah, I heard the Refuge's pretty bad," I said.  
  
"Refuge? Naw, everyone knows that gypsies is already hard core criminals. Unreformable. They don't send gypsies to the Refuge. They send'em all to jail."  
  
You could tell from the look on his face that there was nothing we could say that would ever make him talk more about it. We were all kind of silent for a minute. It was real awkward. Then Albino stuck his oar in.  
  
"Don't feel bad, Rails," he said, "I mean, I've seen a lot of these strikes, and I'm telling you, they never work. If we don't take the jobs, someone else will. And if for some reason nobody else does it, the bosses bring in these big guys - strike breakers - and they'll beat the strikers till they're begging to be let back in. So, you're being here don't make any difference to anyone except you. I mean, look at it this way. It's just me that's here. I ain't so important that I'll change what's going to happen with this strike." He grinned like he was joking, but I don't think he was.  
  
"Move it, you bums! Stand in line here! Give Weasel you're money, and Morris'll give you your papers. Hurry it up, we don't got all day!" shouted Oscar, waving kids over to Weasel's 'office'.  
  
Albino, Christian, Rye, and I got our money in our hands, and waited our turn. Every kid took at least twenty five papers. The ones who had enough money took more. I figured that the way I looked - all bruised up and stuff- I ought to be able sell more than that no matter what the headline. Sympathy, you know. I dug into my pocket, and found enough money for fifty. I slapped the money down on the counter, and Weasel kind of grimaced at me. I guess it was supposed to be a smile, but nothing Weasel's face does could ever really be called a smile.  
  
"You having fun, Rails?" asked Weasel, grimacing again.  
  
I saw recognition begin to slowly come over Morris's face, and I grabbed my papers and walked away quickly, before he could say anything. I guess I must have looked kind of scared, because after Albino got his papers, he came over to me and asked if I was all right. He looked really worried, and for a second he reminded me of Dutchy so much.it kind of hurt. I don't know, it was all tied up in the knowing I was a traitor. What the guys had said made me feel better, but still.I knew that Dutchy and Specs and the newsies wouldn't see it that way. They'd see that I was one of them, a newsie, and now I was a scab while they were striking. I guess I knew that they would hate me now. They had been my friends, and now they were my enemies, and I never wanted it that way, but that's the way it was. It was like what Mike had said before, about people with the Itch never being able to have real friends, was coming true, and I hadn't even started to get all Itchy yet, not really. Thinking thoughts like that, I must have looked even worse.  
  
"Hey, you sure you're okay? You don't want to sit down or nothing?" asked Albino.  
  
"Something wrong?" Rye joined us, followed by Christian.  
  
"You look like a ghost," commented Christian.  
  
"I'll be fine."  
  
"You sure?" Albino must have been really worried.  
  
"Didn't I just say so? I just need to walk around a little. Get the blood moving, you know."  
  
"Yeah, all right," said Rye, looking at Albino and Christian sideways.  
  
It's kind of funny how people make friends so quick. I'd only known these guys for - what, it couldn't have been even an hour, right? How'd I get so close to them that they were looking out for me like this? I don't know. It was kind of like that with the newsies too. You made friends real quick. I guess Rye, Albino, and Christian felt kind of responsible for me because they called the doctor and everything when I was asleep. I also think they thought I was pretty naïve because of what I asked before - if they felt bad, you know. Maybe they were right. I don't know. It just struck me as weird that they stuck so close to me all of a sudden. Right then I felt that loneliness again. I couldn't be friends with the newsies, I couldn't be friends with these guys - I had the Itch. Hell, I'd screwed things up with then newsies because of just the idea of the Itch. But I'm not telling it right. That isolation, that fear of the Itch, that didn't come on me right away. I was too full of other feelings. I mean, I was feeling afraid of what Morris and Oscar would do now that they knew I was a newsie turned scab. My brain kept going on the problem of who these new guys were who I could tell were thinking of themselves as sort of my friends. I was also trying to figure out a way to keep from seeing the strikers when I was out selling. And I was also feeling bad because I was turning my back on my friends. Damn, I really wish I could shut my brain up sometimes! And the pain was sort of pulsing underneath it all. It wasn't all gone, not by any stretch. Then, underneath all of that, I was feeling kinda bad because I knew I couldn't stick around to be friend with these guys any more than I could with my newsie friends. I was worrying about when the Itch would strike again, and how I could get out of there. It was there on the lowest level, all the time. It was as deep down in there as the pain was.  
  
Then the distribution bell rang, and I heard shouting from beyond the gate. That shouting, it tied in with emotions, and I don't know how to describe it. It was like - once I'd gone to the seashore, and you could hear ocean waves kind of faintly even before you saw the ocean, and you wouldn't know it was ocean waves if someone didn't tell you. Then you'd get closer, and the roaring would get louder and louder, and then you'd see the blue and the waves crashing down on the ground, and it hit you all at once how big the ocean was, and how beautiful. It was like that, only what was hitting me was panic, not beauty. I heard the roaring of voices, and I wasn't sure what it was. Then I recognized that it was the newsie strikers, and the noise got louder and louder, and then, like those waves crashing down on the ground, it sort of hit me that I'd have to actually confront them - not later, right then. It felt like someone had actually hit me. I had felt bad about this, and I had sulked about how my friends must have hated me, but I hadn't really realized that I'd have to come face to face with Dutchy and Specs and Bumlets. They would look at me and see me for the scab, the traitor that I was. The panic crashed down on me, like the waves beating the crap out of the shore, beating it all out of shape into dunes and stuff. I must have started to go away from the gates, because Rye grabbed my arm and said "Hey, don't worry, Rails. We can take them if it comes to a fight."  
  
"Yeah," said Christian, grinning and stuffing his papers down between his shirt and undershirt so they wouldn't get in the way. It was actually a pretty good idea. It would be kind of like armor, I thought. The other two must have agreed with me, because they copied Christian, then motioned for me to do the same. I did, kind of mechanically. Like it wasn't really me doing it.  
  
"I haven't seen a decent strike-scab fight in.God, I don't know how long. Don't worry, Rails, we'll watch your back," said Albino, cracking his knuckles.  
  
"Come on, my darlings, I'm waiting!" shouted Christian at the strikers. I don't know if they heard him or not. I kind of hope they didn't.  
  
Rye, Albino, and Christian stood ready to fight, and I stood behind them, wondering how I could get out of this. The panic and the pain I was still feeling and the guilt and the isolation all swirled around in my head, making me kind of dizzy. It wasn't that I'd never been in a fight before - believe me, I can hold my own in a fight - but these were my friends we were fighting. I didn't want to do it, I couldn't do it, and I think that was the only time in my life I ever prayed. I cried out to God or whoever was out there, 'I don't want to fight my friends. Please, I don't want this, I never wanted this. God, don't make me do this!'  
  
Then the gates swung all the way open. 


	5. Betrayal

Memoirs of a Scab - Part 5 - Betrayal  
  
This part's kinda hard for me to explain and keep you on my side, but I'll try. Maybe you'll hate me after you hear it, but I can't help that, I guess. Right here, this is where I started acting like a scab. Like the kinda scab that the strikers talk about, the kind that ain't worth nothing, and deserves to be soaked. And sometimes I'm sorry about it, and sometimes I ain't. I guess I better stop babbling and just tell what happened before you start thinking I killed Dutchy or something.  
  
I was panicking, like I said. I didn't want to have to face the strikers, my friends, because I knew they'd hate me for what I was doing. In spite of everything my new scab friends had told me, I still felt like I was doing something wrong. I felt guilty, and I didn't like it. I didn't want to feel that way, and I was tired of feeling that way. My body was hurting because that cop had soaked me, and my.soul, I guess.was hurting because I felt bad about what I was doing. So I stood there behind Rye, Christian, and Albino, panicking. That was the first and only time I can ever remember praying to God. I said to myself "God, I don't know where you are, but if you're listening, please, don't make me do this. Don't make me confront my friends, and I'll make it worth your while, I promise you. I'll be a regular alter boy, I promise." Well, God must not've believed me, or else He wasn't listening after all, because the gates opened all the way, and the roar got bigger, and then silent for a minute. We scabs stood huddled up at the threshold of the gates, and the newsie strikers were grouped in front of them like a big ocean of angry kids. And if you don't think that's scary, you've never tried to face down a mob of newsies before. And it was double scary for me, because looking at them, I could pick out people I knew. There was Blink, and then there was Jack, and Racetrack, and there, on the edges, were Bumlets, Dutchy, and Specs. They hadn't seen me yet, but I saw them, and I was just frozen I was so scared. It wasn't that I was scared of being beat up - that'd happened already. I was scared because I knew they'd hate me, and I didn't want that, because I didn't hate them.  
  
"Hey! Rails, snap out of it!" said a voice. It was Christian, and he was snapping his fingers in front of my face, and looking at me like I was crazy.  
  
"You don't look so good, Rails. Maybe you should go back inside. I mean, you'd lose your money, but." began Albino.  
  
I really wanted to take his advice. I even went so far as to take a step back to the World building. Then I saw the DeLanceys standing there, looking as mean as usual. Morris waved at me, and pointed at me for Oscar. He smiled real nastily, and I knew that if I went back there they'd make it real bad for me. So I was caught between two bad things, and I didn't know what to do. I looked back at the strikers outside of the gate, and that's when it happened. Specs saw me.  
  
At first I don't think he believed his eyes. He took off his glasses, and rubbed them on his shirt, and looked again. He grabbed Dutchy and Bumlets, and pointed. I wanted to go and hide somewhere, as cowardly as it is, but I couldn't. All the scabs were packed in too tight for me to really move anywhere. I couldn't do nothing but just stare at Dutchy, Specs, and Bumlets. They all looked like they was in shock or something for a second, but then they sort of narrowed their eyes at me, and started shouting. Everyone was shouting again, and I couldn't hear them, but from looking at their mouths I thought they were shouting.  
  
"Scabber!"  
  
"Rails, how could you?"  
  
"You goddam dirty traitor!"  
  
Huh, so what do you know, Bumlets could talk again.  
  
I tried to apologize, to explain. I said "It ain't what it looks like! It ain't my fault!" But they didn't care. Specs actually spit at me. Now that I think about it, it's probably more likely that they didn't hear me, but at the time I thought they just didn't care. I thought that they was just seeing that I was up there with the scabs, and so they knew I was one, and they didn't care how or why. They hated me now, without even giving me a chance to explain. Like I said, I was sick of feeling bad about things, and how they were shouting at me and spitting at me then - it just made me mad. Real mad. They had been my friends just the day before! They had been sitting with me at Tibby's, eating and joking and having fun, and now. one strike, and that's it. I mean, who was betraying who here? Yeah, I went scab on them, and friends don't do that, but they didn't even let me explain. Friends are supposed to give you the benefit of the doubt, right? I know I woulda. Or at least that's what I told myself. So, I got real angry. I was feeling like I wasn't the only traitor here, and why should I be the only one beating myself up about it? Albino was right. What I was doing wasn't gonna make any difference about what the outcome of the strike was. Just because the people I called my friends wanted to be stupid and go on strike in some fit of insanity didn't mean I had to too! And if they expected me to drag myself through hell for them, what kind of friends were they, anyway? I had enough to do looking out for myself. I wouldn't go doing a thing I knew was stupid just to please them, and they were awful people to expect me too.  
  
One guy approached the mob of strikers. His name was Sal, and he had been a newsie too. I don't know how he got to be a scab - maybe the same way as me. Anyway, the strikers were insulting him and yelling at him, until finally he through his papers down and joined the strikers. The next couple guys did the same thing, even though they hadn't ever been newsies, at least not when I was. You know, if I wasn't so angry at the time, I probably would have done the same thing. Maybe if I had done that, then Dutchy and Specs and Bumlets would've forgiven me. Maybe things would be different now. I don't know. I do know that I was so mad just then that I didn't throw down my papers and join up with the strikers. I stood up as tall as I could, which is pretty tall, and made my hands into fists. Christian, Rye, and Albino nodded sort of approvingly, and did the same thing. We knew what was coming. Every single guy wouldn't turn striker. Sure enough, the next guy didn't throw down his papers. I wasn't close enough to hear what happened, but it looked like he turned to Blink, and then to Jack, asking them to let him get through. He didn't want no trouble. But the strikers, they wouldn't listen. Jack hit the papers right out of his hand, with this smirk on his face. That made me mad too. This kid just wanted to sell papers, to make a living, you know? And Jack and the strikers just wouldn't let him. Had to bring everyone in the world down with'em. Well, this kid, he bent down like he was going to pick up his papers, but at the last second he lunged for Jack, and the fight was on.  
  
Next t o me Albino let out this whoop, and ran towards the fight. I ran after him, with Rye and Christian on either side. The other three, they was just hitting whoever came close to them - I think Albino even slugged one guy who wasn't even a striker - but I knew where I was going. Well, maybe my brain didn't know it, but my body did, because my feet led me right to Dutchy, Specs, and Bumlets.  
  
Bumlets turned around and snarled at me. His mouth was bloody. I guess someone had reopened the cut in his mouth where we'd pulled his tooth.  
  
"You traitor! You goddam scab!" shouted Specs, throwing a punch at me.  
  
I think that if I tried to explain then, I could've. They were close enough to hear me, and even though they were mad, I think Dutchy would've listened. He was always more understanding than most guys. But I was too mad then. It was past the time for explanations and apologies. I didn't feel bad about what I'd done any more, or if I did, it didn't affect me as much as my feeling of betrayal. I snarled "Who's calling who a traitor, huh?" and damn near broke Specs's nose. Specs was all shocked when I did it. Blood was pouring down his face, and he got this look in his eyes, this angry look, and he charged me. It was like this bull dog I'd seen once in Jersey. Some guys had kept cutting at it a little bit and a little bit and finally it just lunged at them, all crazy like, spitting and snarling and biting, Specs was kinda like that. He tackled me and we was rolling around on the floor hitting each other, spitting on each other. Got to the point that I couldn't tell if the blood on me was his or mine no more. Kinda like blood brothers, if you think of it right. Anyway, I'm a pretty big guy, so I was getting the upper hand in spite of Specs's mad bulldog craziness, and so Bumlets hauled me off of Specs and shoved me to the ground. I whirled on him and tackled him around, punching him again right in the hurt mouth. The boy absolutely howled.  
  
Then came Dutchy. I felt worst about him. He looked just so.so.I dunno. Betrayed I guess. I thought maybe he was gonna ask me why, or what happened, or something. I mean, it was Dutchy. Yeah, he could fight, but he never much liked to. I mean, Specs was always flying off the handle, and Bumlets could find something to enjoy in a brawl, but Dutchy was the quiet type, you know? Well, quiet type or not, he hauled off and slugged me. I staggered back a few steps, and then Specs was on me again, and Bumlets, and I was already beat up pretty bad, and this whole righteous anger thing wasn't going to keep me going forever. I couldn't hit back so good, and I was getting weaker. I almost thought for a second that they was gonna kill me, and thought it was kinda funny that I'd been soaked by cops, by train security guards, by the DeLancey brothers, but it was them that said they was my own friends that was gonna finish me off.  
  
Of course they didn't. I heard something that sounded almost like crowing, and Specs was off of me, then Dutchy, then Bumlets. I looked around, dazed, and there was Albino with a big grin on his face, pounding Specs. Christian and Bumlets were circling each other, and Rye had a Dutchy in a headlock. Rye grinned at me, and I just stood there, shocked. You know, it kinda came on me, this thought, that something real important was happening right then, but I didn't know what. Thinking back on it, I guess it was because my old friends was fighting with my new friends. My old life with the new one. Conscience with necessity. Something like that. Or maybe it was just that I was kinda realizing that my old friends, they weren't my friends no more. They was still the same people as before. That night, after cussing me out, Dutchy'd probably bug old Kloppmen to help him learn to read and write, and Bumlets and Specs would probably play a hand of cards for peanut shells, and Bumlets'd cheat, and Specs would yell. I wondered who they'd get to play with them now that I was gone. Because I was gone. They hated me now, and I wasn't in their world now. The newsies, they are great friends, and they'll die for you, but when you stab'em in the back.well, they ain't got no tolerance for that. At least, I thought that's how it was.but that comes later. Anyhow, Specs and Bumlets and Dutchy, they was great friends, but they weren't my friends no more. I might want'em to be sometimes, but they weren't. Albino, Christian, and Rye, they were there for me now. My old friends was taking swings at me, and my new friends was right there helping me out. And yeah, if your new friends are all scabbers, you gotta wonder how smart it is trusting them, but being friends with the guy who might take swings at you tomorrow sure beats trying to be friends with the guy who's swinging at your right now, don't it?  
  
Well, all them thoughts, they didn't come till after. Right then I was just confused, or shocked, or something. Anyhow, I looked around me, and the scabs was being beaten out by newsies right and left. Right around me seemed like the only place were scabs was winning. And you know, a part of me, deep down, in spite of everything, was glad for the newsies. Anyhow, some of the other newsies was coming up to help out Dutchy and Specs and Bumlets, and I shouted, "Scram, guys!" and, well, Rye and Albino and Christian, they looked around, and off we went. So there I was, running with my scab friends away from the newsie pals I'd destroyed. And, even though I was running off with my new friends to get out of trouble, hating those guys that used to be my friends, the thing was, a part of me was back with the strikers, thinking 'way to go, guys', and hoping Specs's nose was all right. Talk about being confused. 


End file.
